Page 4 of Fallen Gods

And of course their oldest son, Aric, will be there, too. Because it’s not enough that he’s the only person who knows where Thor’s hammer is. No, my life is a Gods-fueled soap opera:complete with family drama, revenge plots, and even a former fiancé.

If you can count a betrothal that barely lasted an afternoon.

Just thinking of Aric has my stomach twisting. It’s been years, but the thought of seeing him again still knots something deep in my chest. Avoiding him will be impossible. Pretending he doesn’t exist will have to do.

We stop at a red light in Everett.

My father lets out a frustrated grumble, as if the light is purposefully slowing our journey, as if it has stakes in this game. He fails to understand that the world no longer runs according to his ancient Rolex.

A black Land Rover Defender pulls up next to us, engine roaring, and I’m jealous of the power behind that accelerator. The windows are down, and though I barely get a glance inside the vehicle, I can fully appreciate the loud music annoying the hell out of my father, along with the muscular arm resting partially out the window.

I smirk as he shifts in his seat and lets out a grunt under his breath. It’s the little things.

I’ve learned to count my small victories where I can find them.

The minute the light turns green, the car cuts us off and speeds ahead. We follow in the same direction while my father starts a monologue about respect and kids these days. I’ve heard it a million times. It has zero impact.

I know we’re close when the sound of Father folding his newspaper fills the car. With each crisp snick of the paper, my body tenses.

And then he turns. I know he turns, not because I see it but because the musky smell of the earth follows. I squeeze my eyes shut for one brief second and then shift toward him.

The car pulls to a stop, but I don’t dare look away from him. It would be too disobedient, and if I want to get out of this car,I need to show him I know my place. The newspaper is lying forgotten on his right thigh.

His hand curls around the head of the golden raven adorning the top of his ever-present cane, and he taps a tattooed thumb over it, the heavy gold ring on his hand banging out an insistent rhythm. I know he does this on purpose; he wants to draw attention. I might be one of the few people in this world who knows the power that cane holds. It’s a relic of our world, concealing a sword of Asgardian steel. It’s part of him. It never leaves his side.

“I don’t think I need to remind you how important this is, Rey.” His free hand reaches for his jeweled, braided white beard. With each stroke, his anxiety surely lessens while mine ratchets up. “You know, I didn’t want children, at least not…” He makes a face. “You.”

And just like that, we’re back to reminding me of my worth.

For as much as he needs me, he never fails to remind me of my place.

Me. A nobody compared to him.

Just like Laufey, just like Rowen, just like every other person in his life, I’ve never been good enough. I’m just his weak bastard—his words, not mine. “I understand, sir.”

Most children are born being told to shine.

I was born being told to stay dim.

But it’s my turn to shine now. I’ve been given no choice.

He nods. “Yet you’ve done well despite my wife’s best efforts to encourage the opposite of my training. And now you’ve got seven days. One week to prove that I was wrong about your worth.” He reaches for my chin. My lips tremble at the gesture.Don’t cry. Don’t flinch. “Everyone will adore you. After all, they can’t help it, can they?” He grins, and there’s nothing but malice in his smile.

Because he’s right—theywilladore me; they have no otherchoice. They’re drawn to my Aethercall. A sort of glamour, old as the blood in my veins. People don’tchooseto notice me. They just do.

It’s fitting that the only gift my father has ever given me is a curse.

“Thank you,” I whisper, hating myself all over again. “For the honor of serving you.”

His nostrils flare. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “You forgot the last part.”

I don’t shake.

I don’t yell.

I’m numb.

I lick my lips and say, “Odinfather.”